Interjection
by Complicity
Summary: Set after 2.7. It should be a straightforward operation, but Alex has her mind on more pressing issues. Will her flippant discern for the case lead her into danger?
1. The Office

A/N. Hi all, thought I'd share my latest ramblings. Heading back in time to just after 2.7 because it all got a bit complicated after that didn't it? Anyway, not much to say, usual disclaimer, yada yada, I do love it when people R&R! X

**INTERJECTION**

1. The Office.

"_Tango, Alpha, Romeo, Tango. Do you read me?"_

"_Shut up, Hunt. Yes, I can hear you."_

"_Good. What's the deal?"_

"_These things take time, Guv. Difficult to psychoanalyse the bastard or get him to talk about anything at all actually when you call in every bloody ten minutes."_

"_Didn't ask you to psycho-anything Bolls. You've got an hour. Get us some evidence."_

"_What do you think I'm-"_

"_Bolls."_

"_Yes?"_

"_Watch yourself."_

"Guv."

-o0X0o-

At first this case had simply been inconvenient in Alex's eyes. Still reeling from her encounter at the construction site, and finding it difficult to put her energy into anything fresh without a heavy heart, she'd actually been on her way to Gene's office to spill the secrets from the last forty eight hours.

The theory was a solid one. Every time she closes her eyes the darkness is overwhelmed by the morbid scene, lit up in tungsten and haunted by the clinking of chains and the feel of the mud, the blood on her icy fingertips. What's odd, though, the strangest part, is that the remorse she feels for the man whose face had been blown off simply pales in comparison to the stomach churning dreadful ache in her chest that manifests itself every time she thinks of how she's keeping all this from Gene. It had taken an hour and almost an entire bottle of Merlot; Self analysis in the form of tape upon tape. She'd spilled her guts on every possible angle concerning Gene Hunt, then she'd played it back again and again until her own voice was spilling out of her mind like confetti. Eventually she'd settled on the only possible conclusion; Gene Hunt is the lynchpin within this riddle. To get home she must get to the bottom of him. Whether friend or foe it hardly matters to speculate, the only way to find out the answers is to ask for them.

Understandably her palms were clammy and eyes wide in anticipation of facing the Guv with the awful truth of PC Summers' fate. However, in her mind there's a sense of freedom as she stalks towards his office door. It's almost as if the chains of her nightmares are falling from her person and whoever she is, whoever he lets her be after this corrupt bullshit is over, it will make a lot more sense than the plague of questions that are whirring around so quickly they're giving her a headache.

She's interrupted before she even gets a chance to open her mouth, and struck dumb by her missed opportunity.

"Bolls, good. Here." He tosses her a file which she struggles to grasp, caught off guard, and gestures for her to shut the door. "No time to breathe around 'ere these days, we've got another case." He leaves her for a moment to ponder the irony of this opening gambit as he takes the time to pour them both a whisky before elaborating further. "What's the matter with you?" The comment follows a double take as he hands her the glass.

"Nothing Guv. Nothing." She smiles so falsely that he must see through it in an instant, but he at least has the decency to take her word.

"Blimey. First for everything. Right," he nods towards the case file, "String of shootings just south of London Fields." Alex sighs, settling herself upon his desk and attempting to appear engrossed in the file she's holding as he continues to share the details of the case.

-o0X0o-

It's early afternoon by the time the pair leave his office. An uncharacteristically small period of the morning had been lost to bickering, as Gene had found his DI surprisingly cooperative in her distracted state. Nevertheless, he stands back to admire her arse as she struts over to the whiteboard and whistles for the attention of the room. He'll never get used to that sight. Damn, after two years it still gives him groin ache.

"Okay, listen up. As you know we're investigating three incidents occurring over the past forty eight hours. Therefore time is of the essence and I need every one of you to turn your full attention to this case. As yet we have no significant leads and no idea if the perpetrator is planning anything else. We can, however, assume that if he is intending to strike again then it will be soon. Let's not let that happen." She pauses for effect, and takes a pointed glance around the room.

"Right, now lets concentrate on what we do have. Victim one, Daniel Betts." She skirts to the other side of the whiteboard as she speaks, tapping her marker pen next to the image of the man's face; a menacing old mugshot where he's sporting a spectacular black eye.

"Dead." Ray Carling adds helpfully.

"Indeed. Shot from close range and killed on impact. This happened on Westgate Road at around 1am two nights ago, directly opposite the park itself. There's no evidence to show the victim had been taken to the location against his will, and as for the incident itself; An execution if you will." She reaches for a handful of scene photos strewn across Chris' desk, illustrating her point. A clean, clear single shot to the chest. Calculated and decisive. "Now, lets consider the subsequent attacks; Robert Christie around midnight last night and Vince Smith just three hours later. This is where the alarm bells start ringing. Christie was shot just metres from the spot where Daniel Betts was killed, but the attack was different." The poignant pause she leaves after this sentence snaps a few heads into action. Wary of the silence, many start wracking their brains for an interjection.

"Messier." This comes from across the room, where the Guv is still leaning against his office door frame and surveying the scene.

"Exactly. Signs of a struggle, a single shot still close range but not on target. The victim was still breathing when a local resident found him and called an ambulance. Our third man was even luckier. Vince Smith received two shots to the left shoulder, so we can assume they occurred in close succession, a panic move, and he's currently lying comatose in Hospital. So; Aside from the similar circumstances of the attacks what links these men?"

"Charlie." Ray again.

"Who's Charlie?"

"Cocaine, Christopher. Betts and Christie were gutter-bred thugs known for supplying crap to East London's loopy layabout crowd. Smith's just a yuppie dealer."

"So we can conclude that this is drugs related, fine, but we need more than that to secure a lead that's actually going somewhere, short of dragging in the entire Saturday night population of Brick Lane." Up until this point Alex had been covering the whiteboard in a web of illegible scrawl, but as she speaks she sounds unusually exasperated and Ray has to dodge the black marker as it flies from her grasp.

"The Trappers Arms." This time it's Shaz who breaks into the brainstorm. "Christie was a local, in there once or twice a week according to his mate, and all three men drank there within twelve hours of being shot."

Alex listens to the input but remains facing the board, standing far too close to read it even if her own handwriting wasn't swimming in front of her eyes. When she replies she sounds just as frustrated as she had a few moments ago, "It's just a pub, Shaz. Chances are most blokes would stop at the nearest boozer the evening before keeping an appointment with whoever might be about to shoot them."

"That's just it though, Ma'am. The Trappers is in Aldgate, not too far from St Kat's and round near all that new development. Nowhere near London Fields really." At this she spins on her heel, flashing the young copper a deserved smile, but it's the Guv who speaks first as he finally joins the rest of the team by the board.

"Nice work, Granger. Right, Bolly Kecks has a point here about speed being of the sodding essence. We need to get stuck into this quickly and the best way to do that, boys and girls, is from the inside. So," Ignoring the rest of the team he concentrates on a penetrating eye contact with Alex, "Spot of moonlighting?"

**-o0X0o-**


	2. The Job

A/N Hi all, thankyou for the reviews, it's lovely to hear when my ramblings are appreciated so thankyou for taking the time to tell me so! I was going to leave this a while but my email has been absolutely inundated with 'alert' messages about this story - I don't know quite what that means but okay, um, here's a bit more then? At this stage I think it'll be a 3 parter, and I've almost finished writing. Kisses, enjoy, reviews and opinions of any nature are greatly appreciated. x

**INTERJECTION**

**Between 2.7 and 2.8. It should be a straightforward operation, but Alex has her mind on more pressing issues. Will her flippant discern for the case lead her into danger?**

The Job.

Alex takes a deep refreshing breath as she makes her way around the thin corridors surrounding CID. Dressed up to go undercover with a plan of attack in full swing, she would ordinarily feel excited, senses heightened, for the evening ahead. However she still can't brush away the sluggish indifference eating away at her mind, really struggling to see the point of all this in light of Summers' revelations and hardly interested at all in the briefing she's heading to. Nevertheless, she can't quite suppress a wry smile as she enters the office, letting the double doors slap back on their hinges and drawing the attention of the room. Especially DCI Hunt, whom she could swear is rendered speechless for just a moment as he takes in the sight before him.

"Christ Bolly. Anyone would think you were a prozzy in another life."

"Who's to say I wasn't?" She tugs at a stray curl that's trapped itself in an earring, feigning ignorance at the cluster of detectives who appear to have their eyes on stalks. Ray, in particular, has discarded a dirty magazine in favour of ogling his DI, only managing to drag his eyes away when his smoking cigarette burns his fingertips.

"Oof."

"Put your tongue back in, Carling. Alex, in here." He gestures towards his inner sanctum, throwing her expression into an honest confusion at the use of her real name, especially whilst sporting her current get up.

By the time she's made her way, tantalisingly slowly, across the room to his office Gene is standing with his back to the door, staring out of the window and smoking vigorously. "Lee Douglas, landlord, he has previous. Bloke spent five years in the Scrubs for manslaughter. He killed his brother; single gunshot, close range."

"And the reason we're not discussing this in front of the team is?" He slams his whisky glass onto the windowsill so the amber liquid sloshes from the rim, making her jump as he finally spins around to face her.

"This isn't a pissing joke, Bolly. You're not playing dress up for Chris Skelton's wank bank."

"Oh, don't be so disgusting."

"That's the problem with you posh birds isn't it. Quite happy to wiggle your bits in our faces but god help us if we mention it."

"In case you haven't noticed, Guv, I am supposed to be undercover. Can't very well wander in there dressed as copper, can I." With that she stalks back into the main office giving the door a pointed slam before he gets the chance to add a sarcastic comment. The argument had been held in hushed hisses, but as she subsequently addresses the room her voice is oddly shrill, a clear give-away of her disagreement with the Guv. "Right everybody, listen up. Shaz, a run through please."

Pleased to be given the floor for once, but nerves manifesting themselves in shyness, WPC Granger clears her throat.

-o0X0o-

Gene Hunt sits down heavily in his chair as his DI slams his own door in his face. Bloody woman. Whilst aware that he hadn't handled that very well he can't help but remain seething with her. This morning had been off putting. Usually, in discussing a case with her, he has to brace himself in preparation for at least a few major verbal trysts. Therefore he hadn't expected to find her so distracted, offering only an uninterested shrug at many of his most controversial suggestions. At one point he'd been reduced to baiting her just for a reaction, but even that only managed to provoke a flick of the wrist as a flat dismissal of his comments. The decision to send her in undercover had been, he must admit, not devoid of an ulterior motive. To spark up her passion for the job that was already sorely missed, despite its absence making his life a lot more straightforward.

As it transpires, this move worked against him. He had in fact been rendered speechless as she appeared back in CID. She's a vision in red, from ruby lipstick to Dorothy shoes, and a dress that barely conceals her stocking tops. Unlike the rest of the gormless population of the office he has to avert his eyes as she adjusts the material over her breasts. And she smirks as she struts around the room, amusing herself with her own irresistibility. He can't look at her through his own eyes, he can only think of her as the honey trap he's sending off to meet a dangerous murderer and can't quite believe how lightly she's taking the whole affair. Of course it's something he'd never care to admit, but a nervous flutter manifests itself in his chest when he even considers putting Alex in danger, which is why her own disregard for safety angers him to such an extent.

-o0X0o-

"Right. In one hour DI Drake will start an evening shift at the Trappers Arms. Lee Douglas hires his barmaids from modelling agencies," Shaz makes a face as she announces this, making it quite clear where her opinion stands on that nugget. "They aren't exactly above board either, Ma'am?" She directs the briefing over to her trusted superior and slithers back into her chair. Alex, who had been perched on her desk up until this point, jumps back to her feet.

"No. Lee Douglas, as we have established, is a nasty piece of work. He doesn't care whether his girls can pour a pint or not, he's more concerned with how they look in a miniskirt. Moreover, he cherry picks girls that have low self esteem and then grooms them to the point where he'll get them to agree to a quickie after the bar shuts in exchange for a few quid. He's a pig and he ruins lives. We also have reason to believe he's the man behind our shootings based on his previous conviction."

"So let's make it stick, shall we." The Guv, clearly calmer than he had been a moment ago, walks back into the main office and throws a wire to his DI as he speaks. "Put it on. Not having you in there alone." She makes to object but says nothing as she notices his expression. This is a gesture of concern not a lack of confidence in her abilities, and something in that fact compels her to comply.

-o0X0o-

The bar itself is somewhere between dingy and trendy. It's a rather apt representation of the surrounding area of the city, with characterless new chrome furniture and minimalist artwork doing its best to disguise crumbling walls and a grubby old paisley carpet. The latter dampens the click of Alex's heels as she enters the premises, sashaying over to the bar and leaning over it provocatively to wave for the attention of the heavily tattooed barman that she recognises from his picture. He looks her up and down whilst pouring a pint.

"You're late. But you'll do, I s'pose. Get round 'ere and start taking orders."

"I've never worked behind a bar before," she lies easily. "I'm Alex."

"Yeah, yeah whatever darlin'. It's easy. With those tits nobody'll give a toss if you pour a crap beer." So, he doesn't mince his words, she notices grimly as she saunters to his side and throws her handbag casually to the floor under the bar. "Oi, blondie!" He shouts behind him and a moment later a young girl appears from the back. She can't be much more than eighteen and she's wearing equally few clothes as Alex. "Hold the fort, girls. I'm going upstairs."

For the subsequent hour that was all she saw of Lee Douglas, and the steady flow of customers meant there was little time to get much out of the girl either. She'd introduced herself as Lizzie, and confirmed that she was in fact just eighteen, although she also confessed that she'd been working shifts in the bar for the last two years, a job that she hated and Alex could see why. The tips are good as bar work goes, but both women are more than expected to flash a generous helping of cleavage for each drink served. The clientèle is almost exclusively male, and lecherous eyes are all over the barmaids who are made to feel more like strippers than anything else. Lizzie is sweet, and even quite intelligent in Alex's eyes, but every time she turns the conversation to something more probing; Has Douglas ever tried anything? Have you seen anything dodgy lately? What about those cocaine rumours? Anything of any worth, actually, and the girl dries up. She'll answer with a half shrug and a flick of her blonde locks, choosing that moment to become distracted by a good looking punter and flashing them a dazzling smile.

This lack of progress isn't aided by Hunt who, parked around the corner with Chris and Ray, barks into her ear every few minutes, either keen to hear updates or telling her to watch herself. So far she's just about managing to conceal her replies from Lizzie but it's only a matter of time before somebody catches on and she finds herself wanting to wring her superior's neck.

Added to all of this is that foggy feeling dampening her senses in the same way the carpet does her heels, snatching the satisfaction away from strutting around the bar and making the whole experience a touch dull. Up until now she'd found no problem with putting all of her energy into righting the wrongs and chasing the bad guys, but tonight she's far from on form, and she's not completely sure she can blame Summers' for that anymore. It's like that point in a dream, where everybody else is hiding from the lion, running scared, but you stop right in its path. You turn to face the beast and you delight in the horror drenched faces of the onlookers because you can say, 'I don't care. Eat me, if you wish, I'll wake up in a minute.' The thought makes her feel light-headed, and for a fleeting moment she considers walking upstairs and shooting Douglas from behind, just to see what will happen. It's frightening to think the only thing stopping her is that Gene Hunt has her gun. She's so lost in this thought that she's startled to hear the landlord bark from behind her.

"Lizzie. Clear those glasses, sweetheart." He points to a table in the corner, where a rowdy drunk group are piling up the empties and eagerly awaiting the barmaid. Alex winces in sympathy for the girl but takes her opportunity to smile sweetly at Douglas, making to sidle up to him flirtatiously. Just as she touches his forearm with a delicate sweep the wire in her ear crackles to life and she springs away from him, hoping he wasn't close enough to hear. Cursing silently, she makes her way out of earshot before listening to what Hunt has to say.

"Tango, Alpha, Romeo, Tango. Do you read me?"

"Shut up, Hunt. Yes, I can hear you."

"Good. What's the deal?"

"These things take time, Guv. Difficult to psychoanalyse the bastard or get him to talk about anything at all actually when you call in every bloody ten minutes."

"Didn't ask you to psycho-anything Bolls. You've got an hour. Get us some evidence."

"What do you think I'm-"

"Bolls."

"Yes?"

"Watch yourself."

"Guv." Exhaling slowly, her heart pounds just a touch too fast as she considers that near miss, but it's a good feeling. Oddly, it wakens a bit of the reality she's been grasping to hold onto all day. For the first time since the awful memories of the construction site the mist starts to thin out, and she feels like she's in control of herself again. She takes one more deep cleansing breath before turning around to face, Douglas. She gasps as she finds herself nose to nose with the man, and tries to step back but he's rather effectively sandwiched her between himself and the back bar.

"'Ello, darlin. You talking about me?" He brings a hand up to her forehead, brushing her curls back over her shoulder and clasping the black wire leading up to the device in her ear. He gives it a sharp tug and proceeds to snap it in half with ease. "Now then, you 'aint like most coppers I've met. We going to play nice?" He whispers the last sentence, leaning towards her to allow a glimpse into his jacket, where a large firearm is nestled against his side.

Alex can hardly describe the next couple of seconds, not in hindsight nor at the time, when a bubbling concoction of heightened rage and something of the recklessness she'd been considering only minutes ago drives her to lunge forward and make a desperate grasp inside his jacket. There's a blur; He has her wrists, then she's wriggled free, then she could swear he swings for her and she ducks, somehow remaining on her feet.

"Nobody's going to get hurt." She growls the words through gritted teeth as the pair wrestle for the weapon, bumping painfully against various objects and making Lizzie scream when she sees that it's a gun.

"Beg to differ, sweetheart."

And then bang. Usually the sound of a shot makes Alex jump into the air and squeal in horror but not this one. Silence fills the room in the moments following the blast and everybody, the whole place it seems is motionless before her eyes.

**-o0X0o-**


	3. The Pieces

A/N Hi all! Thank you so much for the reviews, I'm glad you like the story. I definitely want to send personal thank you messages but I'm stumped by this website I'm sorry I can't work out how. :( Particularly, apologies for the jumping between tenses that has been pointed out to me - it's one of my worst faults I'm sure, get too blabbery with the keyboard! Hope it's not a story ruiner, I'll work on that in the future though so thanks for pointing it out, I like specific feedback! Also apologies this took so long, been a busy bee lately. Anyway enjoy, and r&r x

**INTERJECTION**

The Pieces.

The single gunshot rings out from inside the bar, and all of a sudden there's a terrified lump in Gene Hunt's throat. He throws down the technology he's been wrestling with and is out of the car as Lee Douglas bursts from the bar in a similar frenzy. He's only frozen by the sight of the detectives for a second before he takes off at a sprint. Gene knows that he should be torn by which way to run but right then he couldn't give a toss about the scum bag they've been tailing. Vaguely shouting to his junior officers to, 'get the bastard,' he's inside the bar like a shot.

He sees Alex instantly. She's behind the bar staring straight back at him, and his heart leaps into his chest at her porcelain pallor. For a moment he's convinced that she'll crumble to the floor in front of him until he notices that she's the one holding the gun. As if following his chain of thought the object falls limply from her right hand, landing with a clatter so crisp that he could swear the room is silent save for that. It's only as he rounds the bar to reach her that the look of shock across her features becomes clear. There, crumpled awkwardly on the paisley carpet, is the young blonde barmaid. A single gunshot to her chest.

Alex is rooted to the spot as her DCI charges past her to Lizzie's side. "I shot her." It's only as she sees him crouched next to the motionless figure that her own legs go from under her and she finds herself landing awkwardly against a box of beers. The crash gets Hunt's attention again and his eyes widen as he looks at her properly. A small crowd has formed around the girl and he leaves her to return to Alex's side.

"Christ Bolly, what happened?"

"I shot her." Exasperated, accentuating every awful syllable this time.

"I mean to you, you daft bint." She looks down to her stomach where, sure enough, a dizzying amount of blood is beginning to stain the carpet she's sitting on.

"Ah, I'm, his keys I think. I'm fine. I shot a girl. She's, not her fault. I should, you should shoot me." Chris Skelton appears at this moment, his face blanched in shock as he sees the devastation before him. Gene tears his attention away from his DI for a moment to bark instructions at his officer.

"Chris. Ambulance, twice." He turns his attention back to Alex and presses her hand, along with his own, to her oozing wound. She lets out a strangled whimper as he applies pressure, and he can't bear the glassy eyed, lost expression on her face any longer. "Oh, bugger that. Come on. Just don't bleed on my bloody car."

"Yes Guv." Alex feels light-headed as she's hauled to her unsteady feet. Soon, though, he's bundling her out of the stuffy commotion of the bar into the icy night air, and by the time they're both in the Quattro she's feeling sick and dizzy. Throughout the drive she's only vaguely aware of his sideways glances, the panic on his face that he's trying to conceal for her sake as the deep crimson patch across her stomach grows and spills onto the seat through her ghostly fingers.

"Just, don't close your eyes Bolls. Come on, slate my driving or something, incessant mare that you are."

-o0X0o-

_Alex is slipping. Ahead of her she can see the door to Gene Hunt's lair, and the Manc Lion himself, supping whisky and staring back at her with that famed pout of indifference across his features. She wants to call out, to let him know she's in trouble, but her lungs won't make a sound. The path up to that door is too steep and her shoes slide further back on the checkerboard floor with every step she takes. Soon she's on all fours, clawing at the panels with her fingers but it's no good, she can't make an inch of progress towards her boss, towards his office where she so desperately needs to be. Then she notices there's no gradient at all. It's not a slope that's stopping her progress but a vice like grip from somebody behind her. Surely Gene must see this, surely he can tell she's in danger, but when she looks for him again he's statuesque, maybe he isn't even real. She looks down to arms that are clamped around her waist and gasps. Lee Douglas, thick muscular limbs covered in tattoos, and they aren't motionless pictures, they're dragons and snakes that crawl across his skin and ooze onto hers as she struggles away from him. She manages to scream as she turns around in his grip, and now they've left CID and it's Martin Summers whose grasping her so tightly she can't breathe. _

"_I knew you'd come round, Alex. I knew you could do it. None of this matters, remember that, hold onto it. You shot someone who doesn't even exist." No, no, she wants to scream at him that she's not on his side, that she knows exactly where she is and she wants to see Gene Hunt. And then Summers is pushing her away, an angry shove and she knows what's coming, a deep pit of liquid concrete that will envelop her limbs. Now she really is screaming, eyes closed and lungs wailing, chains clinking until thud. Not a dark building site but a bright sunny field, grass between her fingers, and all the breath knocked out of her as she looks up at the tree and the rotten branch that'd snapped as soon as she put her weight on it. And then there's only one word left to say._

"_Mummy."_

-o0X0o-

"Ma'am?" Eyes open. Alex is breathing hard as she snaps back into consciousness, reeling from the nightmare and unable to shake the pain from that vice like grip around her stomach. It takes a few moments for her to calm down and place the pieces of her fragmented mind in order. She's in hospital, she hurts because she's been stabbed and, oh god, she shot an innocent young girl.

"I feel sick." Shaz is standing attentively beside the bed, grasping her hand and now reaching for a kidney shaped bowl, just in case.

"I'm s'posed to be outside, guarding the door and that, but I heard you shouting." Concern is etched across the features of the young WPC.

"Don't feel sorry for me, Shaz. This mess is my fault."

"That's not true, it was a struggle, and an accident, everybody thinks so."

"Everybody?"

"Witness statements." Alex looks thoroughly unconvinced by this deduction, but Shaz doesn't quite know what else to say so she takes leave of her superior and returns to her post outside the room, anxious not to be away from it for too long. Alex watches the girl leave before spotting a clock above the door. It's just after midnight, so she'd been out for a couple of hours. Sighing, but resigned to the fact that she won't sleep again until she has any real answers, she shifts herself painfully up the bed into a sitting position and stares fruitlessly at the minute hand.

-o0X0o-

It's 4am by the time Gene Hunt appears at the door of her hospital room. He looks bedraggled to say the least, and it takes him approximately five seconds loosen his tie and sit down heavily next to her on the bed. He even goes so far as to place his left arm around her shoulders and coax her to lean against him, a move he'd threatened previously on numerous occasions. "Just don't cry, Bolls. I've had enough of that tonight."

"I won't." She replies, already burying her face in her left hand.

"The girl died." He can't think of an appropriate time to tell her, so he just goes straight for it. Inevitably this piece of news initiates a stream of choked sobs and he has to summon the energy from his tired limbs to wrap both arms around her shoulders and pull her close.

"I killed her."

"You were impaled on a bunch of keys, Bolly." He speaks into her hair. "Your guts were spilling all over the floor. Even my aim would've been a bit off." He pauses for a moment, sensing that his comments aren't helping, and then he starts again. "I killed a kid once. He was running towards a crowd of bystanders with a gun. Except, it wasn't a gun. He wasn't armed, and he wasn't even looking for a fight. The situation I diffused was a kid who'd seen a mate in the crowd and wanted to get his attention. There's a lot of snap decisions to make in this job, Bolls. Sometimes we make the wrong ones, and the trick is to get through that without wanting to kill yourself. What if that kid had been armed and I'd hesitated? What if Douglas beat you to the weapon and took out half the bar including that girl, including you. For all we know you saved a real blood bath by retrieving that gun. Bloody hell, if only I hadn't sodding called in when I did... Well, it all could have gone a lot worse too, that's all." It's possibly the most heartfelt speech Gene Hunt has ever made, and he checks himself as he finishes, giving her one last squeeze before she pushes herself upright again.

"I've never shot anybody before." He sighs, they're both tired, and he knows there's nothing he can say right now to quell her devastation at the evening's events.

-o0X0o-

He could swear he only shut his eyes for a moment, but as he opens them again daylight streams through the blinds and he feels a piercing headache beginning to take shape. It's only as he stretches his arms languidly over his head that he notices he's alone. The space in the bed beside him is deserted save for a neatly folded hospital gown. All of Alex's belongings have also miraculously disappeared, including the overnight bag that Shaz had dropped off. He looks at his watch, 7am, and as if on cue a nurse appears in the doorway. At the sight of an unshaven DCI Hunt in the hospital bed her brow furrows and her hands move unconsciously to her waist. "Erm, and who might you be?"

"Mm a bloody police officer." He's sitting up by this point, head throbbing, and patting down his jacket until he finds his warrant card which he flashes accordingly. "Police protection." He reiterates, sensing that he's about to get an earful about visiting hours. She looks around the room pointedly.

"Well, you don't appear to be doing a very good job of it. Either of you." She gestures outside of the room to where Chris Skelton is dozing in his chair.

"Duly noted." He grumbles in reply, unable to think and converse simultaneously at this hour. He's out of the door before she gets a chance to trap him in with further questions, and he gives the chair an angry kick from underneath Chris as he passes, waking the confused detective with a start. "Where is she you div?" His comment is delivered at volume as he storms down the corridor towards the exit, leaving his junior officer to deal with the nurse.

**-o0X0o-**


End file.
